


Full Moon Magic

by Talullah



Series: Westernesse [13]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: Tindómiel is a pretty girl who has vague dreams and not many certainties... until she meets her teacher.
Series: Westernesse [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/296957
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Legendarium Ladies April 2020





	Full Moon Magic

**Author's Note:**

> [Legendarium Ladies April - April 8th](https://legendariumladiesapril.tumblr.com/post/614872150916087808/legendarium-ladies-april-prompts-for-april-08).  
>  **Picture Prompt: Full Moon Magic by[Sophia Rapata](https://www.etsy.com/de/shop/SophiaRapata) (warning: some body horror art in the gallery)**  
>   
>  **Poetry Prompt: How to Write a Poem (Celebrating Naomi Shihab Nye) by Kwame Alexander**  
>  _Hush._
> 
> _Grab a pencil  
>  some paper  
> spunk. _
> 
> _Let loose your heart -  
>  raise your voice. _
> 
> _What if I have many voices?_
> 
> _Let them dance together  
>  twist and turn  
> like best friends  
> in a maze  
> till you find your way  
> to that one true word._
> 
> _(or two)._
> 
> The title and inspiration are from the picture prompt. Galadriel says two phrases that are take from the poem.

**Rómenna, S.A. 431**

‘Marry, marry, marry,’ such an obsession for father, mother and brothers. But Tindómiel has just turned twenty, and in her veins runs much elven blood. She will live a long life and twenty is too early to think of a husband. 

There is much work to be done on the island, that much she knows. Her father and brothers travel constantly to the furthest reaches, trying to coordinate this patchwork of a people, manage resources, direct efforts. Elros sometimes lets out a weary sigh, at the end of a long day, and Tindómiel wonders what their lives would be like if he had made another choice for his fate. 

She might like to aid them, but her reserved role is to be, like her mother, a figure of comfort, the kind princess that distributes goods to the poor, who is always beautiful and well presented, who plays music and gently speaks with their elven visitors. 

And, to be truthful, Tindómiel likes this role. She feels flattered when she hears rumours that she is the Tinúviel of her people. Her mother may chide her for her vanity and love of the wondrous silks and trinkets the elves bring, but Tindómiel indulges herself. After all, elven blood or not, she will one day wizen and die. 

But one day, the elven king sends as envoys a woman, silent and blond as the sun and her silver-haired husband, who is kin to the late Thingol, her illustrious forefather. It is not his chiseled beauty, nor his fluent tongue that attracts her attention to the couple. Celeborn is athletic and strong and spends time sparring and hunting with Tindómiel’s brothers in the day, and talking to her father in the evenings. 

Her mother, ever polite, tries to keep the elf woman company but it is very obvious that, despite her considerate answers, Galadriel’s thoughts are roaming elsewhere, as if she has entire worlds in her head. Tindómiel is intimidated by her beauty and strength: there was one time that Celeborn enticed his wife for a sparring match and, to everyone's unbelieving eyes, Galadriel held her ground in equal standing with her husband, and both ended up tired, laughing in each other’s arms, conceding victory to the other, although none had achieved it. 

That night, as she dresses for bed, Tindómiel plays with a cane in front of the mirror, pretending to hold Aranrúth, Thingol’s sword that her father keeps to his side. As fun as it is, she soon lays the cane down, knowing that hers is not a warrior's fate. 

She goes to the window, wishing that it was Spring and that they were back in Armenelos, not here in the harbour city of Rómenna, that is not stately at all. Armenelos is not quite yet what her father has drawn in parchment, but it is coming along, with beautiful, wide, paved streets, buildings of white stone growing out of the ground, and the drier, more comfortable climate away from the sea. 

As she gazes at the silvery light of the crescent moon glittering over the sea, she sees the Lady Galadriel below, on the patio, gazing in the same direction as her. The moonlight turns the golden hair into a cascade of silver, and when Celeborn comes to her side, his head is pure white. They are a beautiful couple, but, after holding each other for a while, they do not kiss, but rather, draw apart, Celeborn retreating to the shadows, and Galadriel standing alone, lifting her arms as if she wants to embrace the sea, then the moon. 

Carefully, Tindómiel opens her window, ignoring the chill of the night air, and tries to listen, but the breeze on the bare twigs of the trees makes just enough noise to make it impossible to hear anything. 

Galadriel lowers her arms and Celeborn comes again from the shadows and envelops her with the thick white felt cape that Tindómiel so admired on their arrival. 

Wondering at what she saw, Tindómiel closes the window and sneaks into her bed. She lies, quietly watching as the fire dies, but it is long before she falls asleep. 

~~~ 

“I felt you watching last night,” Galadriel says, blunt and deep, when she finds Tindómiel alone, the next afternoon. It is after lunch and most everyone is resting or reading. 

Tindómiel knows that her eyes and mouth are too open for the composure a proper lady should have. She feels as if she has been caught, when she is in her own house. 

Galadriel smiles. “No harm done, little one,” she says, caressing Tindómiel’s cheek. “You remind me of a friend…” 

Tindómiel swallows dryly, wondering if the friend might be her own great grandmother. 

As if reading her thoughts, Galadriel takes her hand and says, “Lúthien’s eyes and hair… there is also something to the mouth…of Melian’s...” Letting Tindómiel’s hand fall, Galadriel says, “Of the four of Elros’s children, you were the only one respoding to my call, last night.” 

Tindómiel takes a step back. 

“Do not be scared, little one,” Galadriel says, with a warm smile. “I do not mean to be mysterious. Come, let us talk.” 

Tindómiel follows Galadriel to the small garden that her mother has created in front of their Rómenna house and they wander through the paths. Galadriel talks about Doriath, Menegroth, the land that is gone forever and Tindómiel listens, avid for every little detail. Then they stop and Galadriel asks, “Have you ever gone up the Meneltarma, during the festivals I hear your people celebrate?” 

“Yes, of course, Lady Galadriel.” 

“How is it? Can you truly see the Undying Lands?” 

Tindómiel pauses for a moment. “We see something, some of us do… a line of darker blue on the horizon.” 

“And how do you feel about it?” Galadriel insists. 

Tindómiel shakes her head. “I am not sure.” She starts walking, but turns back. “Safe, I feel safe, as if someone is watching over the land.” 

Galadriel nods, pensievely. “Have you ever felt connected to the land or to someone… as if you could feel them with your mind?” 

Tindómiel lowers her head, bites her lip, shakes her head. “No my lady.” She looks up. “I am just a girl, a simple girl,” she adds, before gathering her skirts and running away. 

She reaches her room and closes the door, uncertain why her heart is racing, why Galadriel’s questions made her so uneasy. She is just a twenty year old girl, a princess of royal blood with pretty dresses, and the single task of helping her mother in managing the house and hearing the less fortunate of the people. Galadriel is ancient, old as the sky. Tindómiel sees that in her eyes and it frightens her. And yet, she feels everything throbbing inside, and this joy, as if she has discovered she has new sense and it’s wonderful and overwhelming all the same. 

She throws herself into her bed and when the maid comes to call her for dinner, she sends message to her mother, asking to be excused, under the pretence of a headache. 

Her mother sends her toast with honey and butter and tea, her favourites, since childhood. Tindómiel nibbles at the toast and forgets the tea until it is too cold. She hears laughter coming from below, where her parents, her brothers, her sister-in-law, the elven guests and their commitive dine. Later there is music, for a little while, then they all retire. 

She wraps herself in her woolen cloak and goes down to the patio below her window. Galadriel is not there, but Celeborn is. 

“She is coming, Lady Tindómiel. Someone needed her counsel.” 

Tindómiel waits silently by Celeborn’s side, feeling that small talk is inadequate. Soon Galadriel arrives, looking tired. Celeborn holds her in his arms for a while, both ignoring Tindómiel’s presence, and then he bids her goodnight with a kiss so intimate that Tindómiel averts her eyes with embarrassment at how she reacts to the shared moment. 

Galadriel comes to her side and both stand staring at the moon. Tindómiel wants to ask her why they are doing that, but instead she asks, “Erukyermë is coming in two weeks. We will all go up the Meneltarma. Maybe you would like to go and see the Undying Lands…” 

Galadriel looks above and beyond Tindómiel’s face, her eyes suddenly absent and sad. “No, child, I thank you, but we will leave before that.” 

“I apologize… I… I was insensitive.” 

Galadriel refocuses on Tindómiel’s eyes. “No, you were generous. But we have better things to talk about. See the moon? It will be full tomorrow.” 

Tindómiel nods. 

“Do you feel it?” 

For all the strangeness of the question, Tindómiel understands it. “I feel a sort of tingle.” 

Galadriel smiles. “Good. I want to show you something that I learned with your great great grandmother. I can sense her blood in you, I know you will understand.” 

Galadriel takes Tindómiel’s hands in hers, gently rubbing to warm them up. 

“We shall do moon magic, full moon magic.” 

Tindómiel shivers. Magic - that is something out of the stories of a time gone and of a land that is no more. And yet, this elf woman before here exudes a power she can almost feel as a scent, a halo of light around her. 

“Let loose your heart - raise your voice,” Galadriel orders. 

Tindómiel wants to obey, but she hesitates. 

“Don’t think child, just say it.” 

Tindómiel breathes deeply and closes her eyes. She sees the bay and the fish underwater, dolphins further outside. And she sees the land, the pines that her father has ordered planted on the sandy stretch to the south of the city, to protect the bare land from the weather and to provide wood for ships and homes. She lingers there, because she has seen with her own eyes how difficult it has been to keep them growing. 

Galadriel tightens her grip. “Do you understand what you must do?” 

Keeping her eyes closed, Tindómiel shakes her head. “I think I should say words,” she whispers. “But I don’t know which.” 

Galadriel chuckles. “Let them dance together, twist and turn, like best friends in a maze, till you find your way to that one true word.” 

And, just like that, Tindómiel starts speaking, not in the polite Quenya of royalty but in a mixture of Sindarin, Adunaîc and a few made up words. She asks the pines to hold on for just a little bit longer, until they are tall and strong enough for the salty sea wind not to kill them. She asks the winds to be kind and the rain to fall plenty. And through the many endearing words, pleadings, prayers, she finds the one word. “Grow,” she whispers at last, seeing even with her eyes closed, the cold light of the full moon bathing the earth with a blessing. “Grow, grow, grow,” she repeats until she falls exhausted into Galadriel’s arms. 

Galadriel chuckles and holds her, cradling her head as if she was a child. “Well done, well done,” she says. “You did your first blessing of the land. With time and practice you will learn to do more.” 

Tindómiel wants to speak but she is too tired. She opens her eyes and sees Celeborn is back and is waiting for them. 

~~~ 

The next morning, Tindómiel awakes late, but leaves her bed with a jump, immediately gets ready and searches for Galadriel, but the elf woman is nowhere to be found. 

“She is resting,” Celeborn says, when they cross paths before lunch. 

Tindómiel is disappointed, but she patiently waits. Later that day, she receives a note, inviting her to join Galadriel in her room. 

“You look tired,” Tindómiel says, as soon as she sees Galadriel. 

“Not from the spell,” Galadriel says. “Do not worry.” 

“May I ask why, then?” 

“Teaching you - showing you that, rather, because I did little teaching, reminded me of someone very dear to me, the last person with whom I shared this.” 

Tindómiel waits while Galadriel looks away. “Finduilas, my niece. Now in another realm, forever away.” 

“I am sorry.” 

Galadriel sighs and takes Tindómiel’s hand in hers. “We need to talk more about last night. I want you to understand that what we did will not bring about a sudden change. The blessing of the land requires many nights, many years, sometimes, to bring effect.” 

Tindómiel nods. 

“And this is the magic of the full moon. You will find that other phases have their uses… for healing, warding, silencing...” 

“How will I know?” Tindómiel feels her hands shaking in Galadriel’s. She suddenly remembers that she is just a girl, someone meant to be pretty and kind, marry and have many children. 

“You will know it in your bones. Last night you understood everything with barely any intervention of mine. But, if you want companions for this work, you must search within the Drúedain.” 

“The Drúedain?” Tindómiel feels embarrassed by how judgemental her question sounds. Yet, it is a current belief that they are smaller, stupider, somewhat unclean and very reclusive. Perhaps, they are reclusive precisely because of current beliefs… 

Galadriel does not respond immediately, leaving Tindómiel even more time to feel embarrassed. 

“I was just surprised, that is all,” Tindómiel ends up saying to break the silence. 

“I met a few of them, once, traveling with my brother,” Galadriel says. “They were very good people, in their own way… As much as that can be said of a people. Search them, Tindómiel… and you will find so much about yourself.” 

After that, Galadriel remains sitting very still, her eyes fixed on the sea outside the window. Tindómiel waits for a moment, but then understands it is time to leave. As she rises, she says a very quiet word of thanks. A shadow of a smile crosses Galadriel’s face. 

The elven couple and their committee leave on the following week. Tindómiel does not have another moment alone with Galadriel, but receives, as a parting gift, a scroll, that she later finds, contains a tale of an elven witch that feel more like a list of instructions. For a long time, she holds on to it and goes out at night to say the prayers and feel the energy of the land. 

But Galadriel’s words still echo in her mind and when she finds that she can teach herself no more, she asks, then demands that Vardarmir takes her out the next journey he makes to the north. She is going to travel, as she has always wanted, and more, she is going to find the Drúedain and learn from them whatever they might teach her, because, over the many nights out in the cold, whispering words, Tindómiel discovered that she is more than just a pretty king’s daughter. She is a woman of heart and mind and will of her own, good and kind, yes, but also strong, in way that is very different from her mother. And she discovers that she loves who she is. 

Finis  
April 2020 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing for so long that I found, mid-way of the story, that I've reached the end of my imagination and was recycling an idea. When Galadriel mentions she has taught Finduilas moon magic, it's referring to [These Mist-Covered Mountains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6475030), a fic I also wrote for an LLA and that I actually like better (but, then again, I'm a hopeless Finduilas fan.


End file.
